no other answer (can I make but thanks)
by TolkienGirl
Summary: Ten things (each) for which the Winchesters are thankful. (General spoilers through Season 10/11; no slash).
1. Sam

**A/N: Just really felt like I couldn't let Thanksgiving go by without a Winchester tribute! This is mildly spoilery through Season 11, I guess? But not overly.**

 ** _Ten Things Sam Winchester is Thankful For_**

Dean. Even though his brother sings off-key in the shower, steals Sam's socks, irons Sam's shirts with beer, cracks dirty jokes when they're in the _grocery store_ —despite all of it, Sam's just grateful that they're by each other's sides again and always. He likes when it feels like always.

.

Salad. Because dammit if life on the road doesn't make burger after burger after burger seem downright repulsive. Kansas may not be California, but Sam's found a few farmer's markets, and there's nothing more refreshing than a lush bunch of spinach, a ripe tomato, a tangy vinaigrette. Even if all such ingredients necessarily bear Dean's mockery.

.

The way his brother's breathing evens out when he sleeps, the only thing that can calm Sam's ever-frazzled nerves and tell him that he's safe in all the ratty motel rooms they've stayed in, past and present. (He hates that about the Bunker, that they sleep in separate rooms. Dean thought he'd be _thrilled to have your own space, princess_ , and he pretends he is. But.)

.

The leg-room he has in the Impala. It's still not quite enough, but that's Sam's own sasquatch fault, and he knows it. The Impala comes closer to feeling like home than anything else, the only thing Sam never believed he grew out of completely.

.

Cas, Jody, Garth—the friends they still have living. And Bobby, and Ellen, and Jo, and Charlie, and _Dad_ —all the ones they lost. Sam arranges pictures in his mind like some kind of mental photo album, and he thinks that sometimes gratitude for what's been loved and lost _hurts_ , but it's gratitude all the same.

.

Jess. Even if he still can't think of her without his throat closing up. (He was going to propose on Thanksgiving.)

.

The constant onslaught of technological improvement, because Sam hasn't forgotten what it's like to cradle a cinderblock of a phone on his shoulder while scribbling notes based on mimeograph records. Smartphones are proof that God exists, even if Sam's still not sure that he looks like Chuck.

.

Books. If Sam makes it to eighty years old, which, most days, does not seem likely, he doesn't think that he'll ever be anything but mesmerized by words on the page—the dusty tomes and the intimately tattered paperbacks, mysteries and myths, hopes and dreams. For so much of his life, his near-closest friends.

.

Forgiveness. ( _Because it's the only thing that you can give when you yourself don't really deserve it_.)

.

Dean. And the way Dean loves him, the way Dean will always move heaven and hell and earth for Sam when push comes to shove. It's not quite fair to be thankful for that, Sam knows, because Dean didn't ask to have _Save Sam_ stamped into his DNA. But Sam is grateful. Sam is Dean's reason to live, and Dean is the only reason Sam is alive.

 **Note: I, of course, do not think that Sam is unworthy of forgiveness. It's a reference to something expressed by Jared recently about Sam's own headspace.**


	2. Dean

**_Ten Things Dean Winchester is Thankful for_**

Sam. Like it was ever going to be anyone other than Sam, with his cat-wide yawns and his bitchface and the way he snuffles in his sleep, leaning up against the door of the Impala. The way he eats salad and gets all shiny-eyed at sad movies and sneers at people (Dean) who mispronounce words like "assuage" when they (Dean) say stupid words like that at all. Just— _Sam._

.

Pie, because it's never going to get better than pie, and this is the perfect time of year for that.

.

The way chicks bite their lower lip when they're turned on. Yeah.

.

Baby, because she's perfect and she's always there for him, purring like a cat down the highway, hood warm under his spine in the summer air when he stretches out on her and hooks his heels on the front grille. She's his girl and he loves her, he's always loved her. (She never leaves him.)

.

The box of pictures that the lady in Lawrence who has the old house gave them. Because Dad had only a couple pictures and he kept them like sacred talismans in his journal. And Dean could only remember Mom's face from those pictures after a while, just those few angles—not her face in profile or the way she looked when she was serious. And the pictures from the box were so much more, so many new memories…it brought it all back, and Dean is so thankful (even though it hurt like—well, like a _mother_ ).

.

He's got one of Bobby's old hats on the peg in the entryway, and it catches his eye sometimes and yeah—he's damn grateful for the time they had with Bobby. Dad was _Dad_ , but Bobby filled in the spaces Dad left empty.

.

Zeppelin. Nobody gets it like Zeppelin, all that gorgeous, angry guitar and reckless words—those are traveling songs, fighting songs. _His_.

.

Redheads. Damn, if Dean doesn't love himself a good redhead.

.

The Bunker is pretty awesome, so much bigger and safer and more _theirs_ than any of the thousand ugly motel rooms ever were. They've got their own rooms, and everything, just like Sam always used to bitch about. Dean misses the security of being able to know that his brother's safe by just glancing over at the next bed, but if Sam's happy, he's happy because—

.

Sam. It's obvious, isn't it? Like it was ever going to be about anyone other than Sam.


End file.
